


Even Superheroes Have Obsessions

by livingtheobsessedlife



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers Family, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 03:50:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11394756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livingtheobsessedlife/pseuds/livingtheobsessedlife
Summary: In which Coulson attempts to hide his Captain America obsession from Clint Barton (impossible!), Clint wakes Coulson up before the sun rises, the Avengers thoroughly ruin Natasha's stone cold rep, Steve gets sentimental on Tony and Tony gets sentimental on Steve, Thor's room looks like The Little Girl's Room From Hell, and Bruce just wants his cereal





	Even Superheroes Have Obsessions

The first month of living under the same roof ( _if they’re living in a massive tower, does it count as a roof?_ ) was spent barely seeing any of his team, so naturally, star-spangled Steve made an emblazoned declaration that he expected to see his comrades every morning for breakfast, or there would be consequences. People, as a general whole, tended to show up when Captain America asked them.

Approximately 146 breakfasts later, daily breakfasts weren’t all that big of a deal. In fact, people had stopped complaining about it altogether (well, Stark still sassed, but he was a lot quieter about it now).

They had a way of moving about, an unspoken routine. Steve liked his eggs and toast, Clint and Natasha shared a penchant for fruit smoothies and protein shakes, Coulson liked his daily serving of bacon, Tony was partial to a blueberry muffin (and _lots_ of coffee), Thor liked, well, everything (he had quite the appetite), and Bruce loved his cereal. 

After awhile they each learned their spots, duties, places in conversation, who got what section of the daily paper (Coulson and Steve split the sections evenly except for the comics which Clint had long-standing dibs on), and who got their 15 minutes of tranquility before being ushered into crazy conversations about science and superheroes (don’t bother Natasha until she has fully woken up, oh god, please don't).

Satisfied crunching was all that could be heard and the entire kitchen stunk of Coulson’s bacon grease when Bruce let out a happy little moan, “I could eat cereal every meal of the day.”

Natasha and Clint raised their brows curiously in his direction, and Steve was laughing quietly from his place at the stove. Bruce paused, frowning with another spoon of cereal halfway to his mouth. 

“What? Do you have a problem with my cereal?”

“No, it’s just, that was very _un-Banner_ of you.” Clint said, slurping loudly on his smoothie (Coulson kicked him under the table for his bad manners, and Clint kissed him in response before proceeding to slurp even louder).

“I’m sorry that I like cereal,” Bruce replied, not sure why he felt so defensive all of a sudden, shrugging as he glared at his rather delicious looking cereal.

“ _Like_ cereal? Sorry to break it to you Banner, but you’re obsessed,” Tony chuckled drily, his face shoved into his mug (he looked rather pointedly away from Barton and Agent’s interaction at the opposite end of the table). 

Bruce frowned, “I’m not _obsessed_.”

Everybody was laughing again and Bruce almost pushed his cereal away in protest because this had to be some form of nutritional discrimination, but okay, he really did love his cereal, there was no way he was about to do that (he took an exaggerated bite instead). 

“It’s okay, Bruce. Trust me,” Coulson said, laughing quietly and picking up a piece of bacon, “We all have obsessions.”

Bruce didn't exactly have to ask for him to elaborate. 

* * *

Before the Avengers Initiative had been appropriated, before the Battle of New York had scarred America, and before he had, well, _died_ , Phil Coulson generally kept his Captain America obsession a secret. 

Figures, Clint Barton would have been the one to out him. 

Clint had been the only one to know about it, which was essentially nothing more than unfortunate happenstance for Coulson. The two agents went on a lot of road trips together for missions, and Phil had an undying need to stop at every flea market and little strip mall shop that he passed to look for trinkets to fuel his obsession. 

In the beginning, he steadfastly ordered Clint to just stay in the car, but with it being Clint Barton and all, the sniper eventually began to wander. 

At first, he would keep out of the shops, just balance along the cement stoppers in the parking lot like a blasé trapeze artist until Phil came out. But of course he inevitably got bored of that, too. 

So, then Clint started actually making his way inside the shops. On principle, he kept away from Phil, giving his handler his space, but he wandered about the shops nonetheless, examining the impossible layers of dust that coated everything. 

One day, Clint’s curiosity was serendipitously sparked when he overheard a sharp gasp on the other side of an aisle of books. The archer crept closer when he heard a... _squeal?_ Or rather, the closest thing to a squeal that Phil Coulson could possibly make. 

Clint carefully leaned into the next aisle, quiet and careful only to find Coulson absolutely beaming (Clint couldn't help but notice that the whole ‘beaming’ thing looked quite nice on Coulson).

When they got back into the car, Clint turned a mischievous grin onto Coulson, “So, what'd ya get, boss man?”

Coulson almost told him to fuck off for that. 

He really, _really_ wanted to (Clint’s knowing little smirk made him want to leave him hanging off a cliff or something, partially because _damn he kinda liked the dastardly-lopsidedness of that smirk of his_ and partially because it was just plain annoying), but goddamn the world if he wasn't over the moon about his newest find…

“If you must know,” Coulson answered, seemingly nonplussed to the entire world (except for maybe Clint who knew what that tiny lift of his brows meant goddammit), “I found the last Captain America trading card that I needed to complete my collection.”

Clint had not expected _that_ of all things, but Coulson was too far gone and Clint was starting to get distracted by the way that grin completely took over Phil’s face.

Coulson continued excitedly, “It’s in near-mint condition, too. And the owner had no idea how valuable it was,” Coulson paused and frowned when he finally noticed Clint’s expression, “ _What?_ ”

“You look nice when you get all excited,” Clint replied easily and Coulson really was _not a fan of that Clint Barton grin (Clint was his _suboordinate_ for Christ's sake! What the hell is he thinking?), _no sirree.__

__

Coulson looked as embarrassed as Phil Coulson could ever look, rolled his eyes faintly and tried not to smile, “We have to be in New York in four hours, we better get going.” And he started the car. 

(The next day, Clint completely blabbed to not only Natasha about Phil’s “adorable” obsession, but to Maria, Sitwell, _and_ Nick Fury because super spy or no, Clint Barton was a horrible liar and a huge gossip.

The Avengers Initiative was officially announced to the world a week later. 

A month after that, Coulson turned out to be rather fortuitously not-dead and Clint and Coulson went on their first real date.

All in all, alien invasions and dying aside, it was a pretty good month. Clint could confidently say that he had had worse.)

* * *

Others did not seem to particularly appreciate arrowheads the same way that Clint did. Not that that bothered Clint.

“Up and at ‘em, babe!” Clint laughed, poking Coulson roughly in the shoulder, before padding into the bathroom. 

Despite himself, Phil Coulson - expertly trained spy, high-level SHIELD agent, and ex-marine- was not a morning person. At. All. And now, it was an _ungodly_ hour. Phil barely stirred. 

“Whasgoinon?” He mumbled into the sheets, burying his face dismally into his pillow. 

“You promised me Yosemite, Phil! Yosemite! And there's no way you're backing out on me now! Up, up, up!” Clint emphasized his point by emphatically tearing blankets off of the bed. Despite Yosemite being all the way in California when they were in New York, they lived with a bunch of superheroes, billionaires, and scientists alike, so getting across the country in less time wasn't a huge problem- _Phil cursed_.

Phil carefully rolled over, still swallowed in blankets but just a little more bare and glaring definitive daggers in the general direction of the bathroom.

Clint poked his head into the bedroom with a suspiciously bright smile, “We don't got all day, babe! Come on!” Then he somehow cheerily skipped out of the room, off to make breakfast. 

Phil stirred reluctantly, lifting himself onto his elbows. He groaned when he realized the sun wasn't even up yet, then he swung his legs over the side of the bed and went to slowly go get dressed. 

Phil somehow managed to eventually make his way downstairs to the kitchen, dressed to the nines in hiking gear, and he despondently realized that the rest of the Avengers weren't even awake yet (Clint had somehow managed to get special permission from Cap to skip breakfast in lieu of leaving early, and okay Coulson maybe resented Steve a tad for that because _he could be asleep_ ).

“We’ve got a full day ahead of us!” Clint smiled, wide and cheery as he slid a plate of bacon across the counter towards Phil, “I’m so excited!”

Phil quietly eats his bacon and watches Clint's excitement from a safe distance. _Maybe it won’t be too bad?_

 _It most definitely is that bad_. 

The second that the two of them step out of the tower, Phil groans loudly and doubts everything he’s ever known, “It’s _hot_ out! Are you sure you want to do this today?”

“Are you kidding? It is the most perfect day for this! C’mon!”

Clint and Phil proceed to hike for three amazing/miserable hours respectively (Clint thinks it’s amazing and Coulson thinks he might be a little dead inside). They walk and walk and walk until Phil is pretty sure that he’s going to have a heat stroke if his feet don’t fall off first. 

Eventually Clint is stopping abruptly and he turns to Phil with the biggest goddamn smile that Phil has seen in a long, long while.

“ _Perfect_.” Clint remarks cheerily as he somehow procures a small shovel out of nowhere and starts his poking around among the dirt. 

Phil is content to watch the pure happiness that undulates across Clint's features. 

After nearly an hour of digging and poking in what look like seemingly aimless patterns, Clint squeaks out a little, “ _Eureka_!” And does his adorable rendition of a victory dance.

“You found something?” Coulson remarks as he peers over his boyfriend’s shoulder. 

Clint gushes, “Oh _yeah_ , I did!”

The marksman proudly holds out his hand to reveal a...clump of dirt? Okay, so it’s obviously an arrowhead, but still. _Basically a clump of dirt_. 

When they’re about three quarters of the way back to the tower, Phil glances over at Clint curiously, “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, hot stuff.” Clint shoots back and Coulson has to try _really hard_ not to get distracted by the way the sunset plays against Clint's skin.

“What is it about arrowheads that you like so much?”

Clint thinks for a second, pauses, and his lips break apart into a smile, “ _The hunt_.” He answers happily, “It’s all kinda like one giant world-wide scavenger hunt. Arrowheads have their own stories that tell you where to find them, and so the fun of it is in hunting for it.”

Phil stares at Clint for another moment or two and supposes that’s a valid reason. Really, he mostly just approves because he gets to watch Clint be so _happy_ now. 

When they get back to the tower, Clint scurries off to the bathroom and Natasha almost immediately offers an understanding look to Phil through a mouthful of protein shake as he collapses in exhaustion in a chair beside her. 

“Arrowhead hunting? That sucks,” She sympathizes with a dry smirk that’s practically calling Phil a _Sucker_ without even saying it (maybe they still have large scale water balloon fights, but they're not _baboons_ and Natasha has manners enough not to insult Coulson out loud, even if he knows what she means), “Clint got me to go once. It was awful.” 

Phil thinks for a second, then shakes his head, grinning and thinking about the treasure of a smile that belonged to Clint Barton when he found that arrowhead, “No, no,” Phil insists, “It was fun.”

Natasha doesn't believe him. 

Clint comes back in and smiles again and Phil positively reiterates his statement. 

* * *

“How the _hell_ did you screw up the op this time, Barton?” Nick Fury glowers 

Clint sputters incredulously in response, frowning, “Why do you think I was the one out of control?”

“Barton,” Fury literally growls, “When in your life have you ever actually been _in_ control?”

Clint really, really wants to argue with him, but okay he can’t really dispute that simple fact. Clint Barton is most definitely a mess. 

_This screw up really wasn’t his fault though!_

Fury continues to completely tear into Clint, yelling and screaming and hollering with every breath in his lungs in true Fury fashion. The rest of the Avengers hang back in a quietly ashamed semi-circle. 

Clint decides he’s just going to take it, take the yelling, because that’s what he has always done. He sits through it, vows blankly to stay out of trouble next time, before inevitably getting into trouble again that thus requires another disciplinary speech such as this. 

And of course, just like every other time, Fury is furious. 

“How the fuck did you go off comms for nearly 24 hours straight without check in with anybody, blow up the wrong Syrian base, _and >/i> steal an elderly man’s pack of camels in less than the span of time it takes for somebody to binge watch Gossip Girl on Netflix?”_

__

Clint is too shocked by the Gossip Girl reference, let alone the unjust blame. He could definitely take it, but he had to admit that he was growing fairly annoyed with the entire situation. After all, _he was innocent in the entire debacle_!

Fury stomped over behind his desk and huffed, “ _I have no idea how Coulson puts up with you_ ,” As he shoved himself into the chair. 

And that was it. The last straw. 

“Alright, sir! That’s enough!” Clint cries out irritably, taking a resolute step toward the Director, “It wasn’t my fault!”

The Avengers all take in a collective sharp breath and watch Clint with wide-eyes. Only Natasha looked normal (aka she stares impervious daggers at the back of Clint’s head. _Normal_.)

“Excuse me?” 

“You heard me! For once, this disaster of an op was _not_ my fault!”

Steve coughed in warning behind him, a cough that sounded suspiciously like, “ _Do you want to die_?” or something along those lines, but Clint was on a roll. 

“If Natasha hadn’t forced us to stop so that she could get the private tour of that Project Runway host’s summer home, we wouldn't have taken out our comms! And we wouldn’t have missed the communication that expressly instructed us on which of the bases to attack. _And_ we wouldn’t have had to steal that civilian's camels because we wouldn't have been completely out of the way! It. Wasn't. My. Fault.”

Nick just stared for a long minute, eyes darting to and fro each and every Avenger, his face hard. Until finally, he bursts into freakishly low, childlike laughter, “Are you saying Romanoff likes Project Runway?”

Clint rolls his eyes and instinctively replies, “ _Oh, please, Nat loves all reality tv_.” Before realizing his mistake. 

The thing is, Natasha is the biggest reality tv trash there is (she bought a shirt that was worn by a bachelorette finalist when he was given the rose, nearly bought out an entire Kardashian store, and has an autographed picture of the Jersey Shore crew). But, she is a female super spy in a white man’s game who lives in a superhero frat house, so to protect against thoughts of frailty and femininity, she pretends not to watch and obsess over the stuff. 

The problem here is that she lives in Avengers Tower and the Avengers do _not_ know how to stay in their own lanes (or their own rooms). So yeah, pretty quick after moving in they all find Natasha curled up watching trashy reality television like a little girl at least once.

Fury’s fit of giggles is incredibly un-Fury-like but Natasha’s glare that she designates for Clint is very, very, _very_ Natasha-like.

* * *

After one particularly long day of crime fighting and paperwork and witty bantering among teammates, Tony wandered into the kitchen, lead entirely by his nose. 

“Cap, I have no idea what you made, but it smells delicious!” As if in agreement, his stomach gurgles hungrily.

Steve smiled warmly at that, shrugging, “Just tryin’ something new.”

Subsequently, Tony was hence forced to watch in absolute horror as Steve proceeded to promptly dump the still-hot pile (of what Tony was pretty sure was some kind of oriental dumpling) into the trash.

“ _Okay_!” Tony gasped, perpetually shocked, “Why in the world do you always do that?!” He was very nearly _angry_ at the easy indignance of the situation. That had been perfectly good food! Tony may be rich, but that didn't mean he didn’t appreciate a perfectly fine home cooked meal. 

Steve only shrugged in response, moving to wash up, “ _Wasn’t good enough_.” He muttered in a very un-star-spangled way that made Tony's frown sink deeper. 

“Wasn’t good enough?!” Tony, couldn’t even begin to wrap his head around the concept of how the delicious smell that filled the kitchen was anything near not good enough.

“Why do you always do that?! Why?!” Tony jumped to his feet, fidgeting beside the rows of counters in a way that looked like any second he was about to start _pacing_ in that very mad-scientist-like-manner of his.

Steve took a deep breath, turning to the billionaire with an earnest frown and tossing a dish towel over his shoulder, “Do you really want to know?”

“ _Yes_.”

“Well, I kinda have a… _thing_ for recipes…” Steve started quietly, looking shyly towards his feet. 

“That’s a weird kink, Cap," Tony joked wickedly and entirely unserious, "But I mean, if you’re into that...,” 

Steve most definitely rolled his eyes as much as possible at that before continuing, “No, no, that's not what I meant. I meant, collecting recipes has always been a way for me to...relax, yknow?”

Tony’s expression was completely blank and rapt, intrigued, so Steve continued, “As a kid, my mom would always sit me down at the kitchen table and talk to me while she cooked. She was amazing at it, but after she got sick…” Steve’s breath wavered and Tony really, really wanted to reach out and hug him or touch him or make any kind of contact, really ( _oh, well, that was certainly new…_ ), “Um, let’s just say we ate at the deli across the street a lot more after that.”

Steve cleared his threat after an empty beat of silence, "Whenever I cook, it, um, it's never as good as what I had with my mom, so... that's why I throw it out."

Tony let out a small, “ _Oh_ ,” And the sound dropped like lead. 

Steve’s face flushed red, “I don't know why I’m telling you this,” And he turned away from Tony to finish the dishes. Time seemed to resume.

Tony was more surprised than anything, having not expected such vulnerability to escape from the team’s leader. 

It had been no secret that Steve liked to cook. Everybody knew that Clint was the best at it, always being put in charge of the meals where they all gathered together, but Steve would lock himself in the kitchen from time to time. Steve would ask chefs for for the recipe when they went out to dinner if he liked it. He would ask Clint and Pepper if he could borrow their cooking magazines and ask again if he could rip out recipes he thought looked good. He owned a hefty stack of cook books, and had a designated shelf in his bedroom that harbors his recipe boxes. 

But nobody ever knew why he always threw his cooking out. Now Tony knew. 

* * *

Tony’s obsession is just like him: quirky, surprisingly expressive, and _not subtle at all_.

Whenever Steve would ask him about the lawn ornaments (there’s several plastic flamingos of varying colors, at least a dozen garden gnomes, three mosaic turtles, and an impressive assortment of other animals) that lined the shelves of his workroom, Tony would just smirk and say, “Howard _hated_ them.”

And okay, Steve didn't really get that part. Steve knew Howard, and yeah he could be kinda an ass, but he wasn’t _that bad_. 

One day, when Tony was in a particularly bad mood and Steve’s social ineptitude was particularly prevalent, Steve was watching Tony stab at some circuits and stupidly voiced his opinion, “I don’t think you give Howard enough credit.”

It had been a long time since Tony yelled at anybody as much as he yells at Steve for that because _Steve has no idea what he’s talking about, Steve is Captain America and Captain America was the light of Howard’s life, Captain America was more important to Howard than his own son, and Captain America has no idea what he’s talking about_. 

Steve makes a terrified and incredibly apologetic retreat as Tony glares a hole through the wall. 

Tony doesn't talk to Steve for nearly a week after that, their friendship reduced to nothing but cold glares and leaving rooms just in time for Steve to enter them.

Avengers Tower absolutely _sucks_ without daily Steve/Tony bickering and bantering and verbal sparring. Everything seems much drearier and Steve resolves himself to fix it. 

Steve corners Tony in his lab the next day, fully utilizing his super-serum muscles so that a certain genius couldn’t escape his apology. 

“I’m sorry,” He says forlornly, “You were absolutely right. I had no idea what I was talking about.” He pauses with no reaction, and continues, “I got you a present to make it up to you.”

Tony only glared as Steve pulls out a silver and shiny bag with a rainbow of tissue paper sticking out of it that Tony swears wasn’t there a second ago. Tony also makes a point to look upset even as he plucks the tissue paper and pulls out the gift. 

It’s another dinky lawn gnome, only this one is painted to look like Iron Man, and Tony snorts a little as he examines it. He looks up at Steve to find he is smiling shyly at him, red creeping across his neck to touch his ears (Tony finds it oddly endearing and is suddenly and terrifyingly overcome with an urge to lean in and kiss the mass of muscle above him that is Steve- _he manages to field those feelings for the time being because that is a train of thought to tug at when he is running off of much less sleep and fueled by much more coffee_ ).

“I figured it wasn’t healthy to be collecting something that made you so resentful- _I know, I know, I’m never not going to be controlling, I’m sorry_ \- but I figured it would be good to collect something you like. It’s a superhero lawn ornament.”

Tony grinned spectacularly.

Two weeks later, when Thor returned to the tower after his latest trip to Asgard, he stared in incredulity and amazement at the growing collection of superhero lawn ornaments that Tony now kept on display in the living room. 

Tony now owned a statue of a hulk fist rising from the ground, a Hawkeye plastic flamingo, a cow painted to look like Captain America, a Mjolnir replica that doubled as a bird fountain, wind chimes with bobbles that resembled the shapes and colors of Black Widow’s uniform, and there, in the center of it all, an Iron Man garden gnome.

* * *

Tony is still grumbling about Gods needing to learn how to be on time when he goes to meet Jane Foster in the lobby of the Tower. He readily smiles at her despite his complaining, bright and real, “What’s up, doc? Ready for your tour?” He says

She nods quietly, smiling softly, before her intern (Tony can’t remember her name- _Danielle? Daphne? Darlene? Darcy? Is it Darcy?_ ) is jumping out from behind a stack of suitcases and being much too cheery for his liking. Tony contemplates just leaving her in the lobby because _he did not agree to this_ , but then JARVIS makes a pointed comment that they really should start that tour, and he’s forced to let the enthusiastic brunette come with them. 

He shows them everything that’s on the way to Thor’s suite. Darcy is particularly enthusiastic about certain things and she is not afraid to show it and Tony decides he can learn to deal with her after she gushes about the view, “ _Oh god, this must’ve cost a fortune, wait, you’re Tony Stark, of course it did, it probably cost TWO fortunes!_ ”, and his ego had been thoroughly stroked for the day. 

Still, he doesn’t exactly complain when he has the opportunity to shut Darcy into Thor’s guest room before guiding the much more mellow Jane Foster toward Thor’s master bedroom.

“Is it true that Dr. Banner is staying here, too?” She asks curiously.

Tony beams proudly, “Yep, I have managed to wrangle all the Avengers into one tower, including our resident green guy.”

Jane brightens, “Well, I would love to talk to him about his latest paper on Gamma Radiation in different dimensions,”

Tony just nods, “Yep, sure, whatever, this is you,” 

He opens the door for her, because Tony is a good guy, no matter what anybody says ( _screw you, Cap and your beautiful, gonna-go-help-some-old-ladies-cross-the-street-and-save-some-kittens face! I could look like that, too if I wasn't busy being a genius_!), and he walks in confidently before freezing and screaming at the absolute top of his lungs. 

“What the _hell_?” Tony shrieks, literally jumping back into the hallway in surprise. 

It’s actually an appropriate reaction considering the room is filled with what Thor happily calls ‘fake midgardian babies’, which literally means they’re just stuffed animals. So many stuffed animals. 

The entire room is stacked from floor to ceiling with stuffed animals and it all freakishly resembles The Little Girl’s Room From Hell. Tony has a horrifying vision of the dolls and animals coming to life and mauling his face off, but Jane seems only mildly perturbed, since she already knew of Thor’s great fondness for the plush toys. 

Thor had audibly declared that he loved the things several times in her presence; they were adorable and innocent and irresistible. It helped to surround himself with the little plushies because he may be a God, but that doesn’t mean he’s impervious to this strange place he often resided in where people revered him (and it’s not that they don’t do that on Asgard, but on Midgard people are a lot more stare-y and regard him with a lot less respect and a lot more fear). So, sue ‘im, sometimes Thor just needs some cuteness in his world. Hence, the elaborate floor-to-ceiling display of stuffed animals.

Jane is laughing lightly beside him and Hawkeye’s cackle can be heard from upstairs in which Clint hollers down through his laughter, “I was wonderin’ how long it would take you to find Thor’s collection, Stark! Fuckin’ hilarious! Ha!” (Before being shushed and berated by a voice that presumably belonged to Coulson).

Darcy comes in and breaks out into a strange half-giggle/half-bark that isn't incredibly ladylike or soft at all, and Tony could definitely, definitely use a drink and probably some time alone with a certain red, white, and blue cohort. He leaves the room and decides that Thor can finish the tour. 

* * *

Fury marches into the kitchen then, pulling their reminiscing to a firm close as JARVIS feverishly announces the director’s approach.

Fury immediately begins his barking and frowning and glaring about ‘superheroes who don’t know what the word boundaries means’ and how he has 'the power to send them all off to different corners of the world, from Siberia to South Africa’.

Stark was too busy trying to figure out what Fury was obsessed with to pay attention. Tony’s best guess was that Fury had a secret bedazzled eye patch collection hidden somewhere. He’d have to remember to ask Clint about that later. Tony suspected the marksmen could likely be bribed with different variations of alarmingly fruity alcoholic drinks, some kind of rare arrowhead, and a promise of a couple nights alone and undisturbed with his favorite SHIELD agent.


End file.
